


new beginnings

by kinneyb



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Eliot will be okay. It'll just take a little work, a whole new world, and his friends back.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	new beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> let me start by saying [clears throat] IDC ABOUT CANON keep ur ""facts"" or inconsistencies away from me  
> (literally didnt even watch the finale, just clips)  
> this is not gonna be plot heavy i just want the gang back together and happy and queliot thank u next

Eliot wasn’t happy; he hadn’t been happy in a long time. But at least he had company, right? Charlton was… _nice_ , and a good listener, and not half bad in bed. That should’ve been enough, right?

He didn’t have his other half, or his soulmate, or even his newest and unexpectedly dear friend, but that was okay because they were happy.

Margo was finally ruler again, and of a new land; a land she could craft to be even _better_ than Fillory.

Alice finally felt needed again, a feeling he knew she had been struggling with for months. She was smart; she could help Margo and Fen with the political stuff.

As for Quentin…

Eliot fished his flask out of his suit pocket.

Well, he didn’t think about _him_ too much. He couldn’t, and the best way to do that? Drink, and drink, and _drink_.

He had fallen back on old habits, but it wasn’t like Margo or Quentin or even Alice was there to stop him, and Charlton didn’t really understand. He hadn’t been there for any of that.

For Mike.

He had seen bits and pieces, but he didn’t _understand_ , not the way they did. He hadn’t _been_ there. Hadn’t watched, helpless, as Eliot almost killed himself. He hadn’t wanted to die, not actively, he had just wanted to stop _feeling_. He just wanted things to be okay and they were never going to be okay, never again.

Eliot opened the flask, neverending, and took a sip. The liquid burned his throat; he welcomed it. He’d been craving it all day, but even he made a point of not drinking in class if only because he didn’t need any of the students squealing and getting him in trouble.

He was fine. Coping perfectly well, really.

The door opened and he looked up. His brain was a traitor and for a moment, however brief, he imagined what he would feel if it was Margo or Quentin or even Alice, but it was always Charlton.

Charlton, smiling sweetly.

Charlton, who was holding a bag of food from his favorite restaurant.

Charlton, who he did not want.

Eliot smiled tightly and tucked his flask away. “For me?” he asked lightly, knowing the answer.

He walked over and leaned against Eliot’s desk, because professors had desks and he was a professor now, and this was really not what he had expected out of life. But he was _fine_.

Charlton placed the food down on his desk and looked around, “I—I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Eliot leaned back in his chair and smiled tightly. He wasn’t very hungry, hadn’t been for weeks, but he appreciated the thought. “What is it?”

“I—I don’t think you’d be mad,” he continued quickly, “but I still think I should apologize for going behind your back and—”

Eliot squinted at him from across the desk; Charlton reminded him, sometimes, of Quentin. A nervous, rambling mess. “Spit it out, Charlton,” he said, hopefully not too meanly.

Charlton startled and pulled something out of his pocket; it was the bracelet Santa had gifted him (God, what a sentence. God, what a _life_.)

He had left it, undisturbed, in his desk back at the loft. The loft that essentially just belonged to them, now that the others had left. Marina certainly hadn’t asked for it back.

Eliot sat up a little straighter, frowning. “Did you go through my things?” he asked, unexpectedly angry.

Charlton placed the bracelet on the desk; it was silver, plain, with a stone. It wasn’t very pretty. “I—I know how you feel, Eliot,” he said, almost sadly.

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

Charlton opened his mouth, closed it. Eliot could barely stand to look at him. He was the _worst_. “You do not want me,” he said, “or _this_.” He gestured between them.

Eliot really was the worst. He had tried to be good, a good partner for once in his life. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted, he could make Charlton happy.

He was a good man; he deserved that.

“Don’t say that,” he said, though he pointedly did not deny it.

Charlton walked around the desk. Eliot swiveled in his chair, facing him. “I _do_ care about you, Eliot,” he said. “I saw a lot of myself in you—in your memories. You’ve been hurt _so much_ , and so had I.”

He reached out and placed a hand on Eliot’s shoulder, smiling sadly.

“But that’s not enough.” Charlton’s hand fell away. “I was hoping I could find a way to help you, but…”

Eliot glanced over at the bracelet, “ _But?_ ”

“I tried everything,” he said, picking the bracelet up. “I think it’s just a normal bracelet.” Charlton smiled again; he smiled a lot, but in that moment it wasn’t happy, not even a little bit. Eliot’s stomach churned at the sight. “I’m sorry.”

Eliot wasn’t even upset; he hadn’t been expecting anything.

He knew what life had to offer, and it wasn’t any of the things he wanted. It wasn’t ruling with his best friend, or living a (second) life with the man of his dreams, or any of that silly stuff. It was this: living at Brakebills as a professor with a man he did not want, but wished he could.

If he could just learn to be happy, with this, everything would be okay.

Eliot gently took the bracelet from Charlton. It was cold against his skin. “Thank you for trying.”

“But I didn’t—”

Eliot smiled, only half-forced. “I am okay,” he said. He _was_ okay. He wasn’t happy, but he _was_ okay and that would have to be enough. “I don’t need to be—be _saved_ or something.”

Charlton stared at him. “Did you hear me?” he asked. “I _know_ , Eliot.”

He frowned, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I know you do not want me, or this, or any of this,” he continued, gesturing around. “I wanted you, and I tried, but it’s been _months,_ and I am not settling and neither should you.” Charlton squared his shoulders. He looked silly. “This is over.”

Eliot almost laughed. He felt like he was high. “Are you—are you _breaking up_ with me, Charlton?”

“You will never be happy with me,” he said, not unkindly. “That is not your fault.”

Eliot scrubbed a hand down his face. He did laugh, just a little. “This is—” Ridiculous; his whole life was _ridiculous_. He laughed louder, harder.

Charlton wrapped his arms around his shoulders, petting his hair. Eventually, he stopped laughing and started crying, shoulders trembling. Eliot turned and buried his face in Charlton’s stomach, sobbing openly. He hadn’t cried—about any of it—in months. He thought if he just ignored it, all of it, that he would eventually be okay.

But he wasn’t okay, and he would never be okay.

“You’ll be okay,” he heard him say.

Eliot just cried harder. Charlton was _so good_ , and yet it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough because the man he wanted was _dead_. He was broken.

For a long while, they just stayed like that until—“Eliot,” he said. “Eliot, _look_.”

He pulled back, eyes bloodshot, and looked at the bracelet; he didn’t even remember setting it on the desk, but it was there—and it was _glowing_ , and _shaking_.

“Wh—what’s happening?” he asked, wiping roughly at his eyes.

One look at Charlton and he knew he didn’t have the answer.

“But I thought you said you _tried_ everything,” he continued, heart thumping loudly behind his ribs.

Charlton looked confused as he shuffled closer. “I—I _did_ ,” he said. “I studied for hours in the library, and couldn’t find anything.”

He reached for the bracelet, and Eliot stopped him. “You probably shouldn’t do that.”

“Oh.” Charlton pulled his hand back. “Right.”

If that wasn’t confusing—and concerning—enough just then Penny and Julia popped in, holding their screaming baby. Eliot scrambled out of his chair.

“Okay,” he said. “What the fuck?”

Julia hushed the baby— _Hope_ , he remembered vaguely, Hope Quentin—but she did not stop.

“She wouldn’t stop crying,” Penny said, “And then she zapped us here.”

Julia stepped forward; she looked so much older, the results of a hard life. “Do you know why?”

Eliot silently pointed at the bracelet, still glowing, still shaking. “Do you think that has something to do with it?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“Wait,” she said, passing the baby to Penny without looking away from the bracelet. “Is that—”

Eliot shrugged, “My gift from Santa? Because our lives have been a joke for _years_ now? Ding, ding.”

She reached for it, and he stopped her. “What?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Do you _really_ think you should touch it?” he asked plainly. “Knowing our luck, you’ll end up at the bottom of the ocean.”

Penny looked rightfully worried from over her shoulder, and Eliot almost laughed because he was just joking. Probably. Actually, probably not.

“Hmm,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. She was thin again—it’d been months, all the baby weight had obviously fallen off. “Good point.” Extending her hand, she wiggled her fingers. Eliot stared at her hand blankly. “Your _handkerchief_ ,” she said sharply.

Eliot pulled it out of his suit pocket. “Do you really think this’ll work?”

“Who knows,” she said, too chipper as she grabbed the handkerchief and picked up the bracelet with no fear. Eliot would always respect her bravery.

Penny shuffled closer, and Eliot slowly walked around the desk with Charlton. Julia admired the bracelet.

“Huh,” she said. “Nothing.”

But then—there was a spark from the bracelet and a sudden whooshing that knocked Eliot off his feet. He fell on his ass, _hard_ , and groaned, head thumping.

“What the _fuck?”_ That was Julia’s voice, not far from him.

Eliot opened his eyes. They were no longer at Brakebills. They were in a clearing of lush grass, but there were no flowers—no, something _else_ was growing out of the ground, like cornstalks. Eliot sniffed the air, once. “Are we in a field of fucking _bacon_?”

He looked around, counted heads—Penny was there with their daughter, and so was Charlton.

They’d all been zapped out of Brakebills.

“The bracelet,” he said suddenly. “The bracelet—where is it?”

Julia glanced around her, “It’s not here,” she said. “I—I don’t know.”

At least Hope had quieted down. “ _You_ need to fix this,” Penny said, pointedly staring at Eliot.

“Shut it,” Julia said without even looking at him. “Hope was the reason we were there in the first place.”

Eliot smiled, just barely. Penny frowned, but didn’t reply.

“Do you feel it?” Eliot asked after a moment after they had all stood up and dusted themselves off. There was something in the air—magic, nearly dizzying.

Julia looked up at the sky; it was clear and sunny. “I don’t think we’re on Earth,” she said softly.

“But I don’t understand,” Eliot said. “Did Hope do this?”

Penny glared at him, but it was a fair question. Julia swatted Penny’s arm, again without looking. “I don’t think so,” she said, “or—or if she did, I think the bracelet had something to do with it.”

“Well,” Eliot said, clearing his throat and adjusting his vest. “Can’t you get us out of here?”

Penny scoffed, “If I could, do you think we’d still be standing here in the middle of _bacon?!_ ”

“Okay, boys,” Julia said, sounding _suspiciously_ like Margo for a moment, “Stop fighting and follow me.” Flipping her hair—soft and wavy—out of her face, she started off in a random direction like she knew what she was doing.

Charlton looked at Eliot with a silent question, but he just shrugged and followed her.

He trusted Julia to be the smartest of them.

They walked out of the field and through trees, pushing them out of the way with their hands. Penny held Hope tight in his arms, protecting her.

Eliot couldn’t tell if he envied or pitied him more, for having something—someone—he cared about so much. He still had that, of course, in Margo and Alice and even Fen, but he hadn’t seen them in months. Now when he thought of Margo, her laughter was a little harder to remember.

He hated it.

Finally, they parted the trees and entered a new clearing but it wasn’t full of flowers _or_ bacon, it was flat land—a road.

In the distance was—

A castle. It wasn’t an exact copy, but it was too similar to be an accident.

Eliot swallowed around the lump in his throat. Julia walked over to him. “Eliot, is that—”

“It’s not,” he said quickly. “Whitespire was destroyed, you know that.”

Julia nodded, never taking her eyes off it. “But you _have_ to admit—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted. “Yeah, I know.”

Charlton and Penny walked up, joining them. Eliot wasn’t strong enough for this: he _couldn’t_ do it again. He couldn’t hope for something just to have it ripped from him—again. But if this was the new world, the one _they_ had created, Margo was here. Within reach. He could almost _feel_ her, somewhere, somehow. But it could all be a trick. He could be dreaming for all he knew. Julia grabbed his hand, startling him, and he looked at her.

“We have to go check it out,” she said. “We can’t just stay here.”

Eliot knew she was right. He smiled tightly, squeezing her hand. “Lead the way.”


End file.
